Read Online Rule Britannia by Daphne du Maurier - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daphne du Maurier
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nodded his head vigorously in agreement, and to show he meant business pursed his lips to frame the dreaded Sh… Emma escaped just in time to spare herself hearing Dottie’s outraged cry and Terry’s shout of laughter.
That evening, when she and her grandmother were thinking of going to bed, the telephone suddenly rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Emma quickly. “It might be some sort of message from the stables, they could have fixed up a house-to-house line.”
For lack of anything better to think about her mind had been full of the lieutenant. She tore through to the lobby where the telephone was installed. It wasn’t the lieutenant, it was Pa.
“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed, not sure whether to be sorry or relieved. “We were told the line wouldn’t be working until tomorrow morning.”
“I got priority,” said Pa, “no problem at all.” Which was typical, of course. He liked to sound important. “Well,” he asked, “how have you weathered the crisis? I don’t mind telling you, things have been humming up here.”
“I dare say,” said his daughter. “They’ve been humming down here too. Helicopters roaring overhead, soldiers, Americans, everywhere—we’ve even had them in the stable block, but they say they’re going tomorrow. Rumor has it they’ve taken over all of Poldrea beach and the docks as well.”
“That’s right, that’s right,” said Pa, “a very sensible move, in the circumstances, nobody wants a lot of hooligans trying to upset the nation, not that they’d succeed. It’s wonderful news, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Emma asked.
“Why, the two countries forming a union. Should have happened years ago. Some of us have been advocating it ever since we boobed it in Europe. Now we’ve all got to make it work. There’ll be some dissenters, of course, but we can soon shut them up if they try to make trouble. Tell me, is Mad behaving herself?”
“More or less,” said Emma guardedly. “I mean, she’s not done anything dreadful. We were all upset the first day because one of the soldiers shot poor Spry, Mr. Trembath’s dog, who happened to be loose.”
“Oh well, if that was the only casualty, count yourselves lucky. These chaps can be trigger-happy, you know, and you want to take damn good care not to obstruct them when they’re on duty. I hope you’ve got that gang of yours under control.”
“Yes, they’re being very good.”
“Well, if I’m not under too much pressure up here I might slip down to see you all, though I can’t say when.”
Emma wondered what the pressure could be. Floods of money either coming in, or going out of, the Bank of England, and Pa with his finger on the pulse. Her grandmother came into the lobby. “Vic?” she said, seizing the receiver from Emma.
Mother and son started talking at once, neither listening to the other, both expostulating, both arguing, which was standard practice when they were on the telephone together.
“I shall never forgive you,” Mad was saying. “Of course you knew all about it, and so did Jimmy Jollif, one of you should have warned me, and then we shouldn’t have been taken by surprise. Nonsense, you know how discreet I am, I wouldn’t have shouted it from the rooftops or gone round Poldrea telling everyone I met. What? I can’t hear a word you’re saying. No, I thought the Prime Minister was very sinister, but then he always is. And who are all these people who are going to create trouble? I don’t mind telling you, I shall be among the first.”
They banged on, parry and thrust, like a couple of prizefighters. But time was precious and Pa’s five minutes of priority evidently ran out, for Mad, clamping down the receiver, made for the stairs and bed.
“Vic will go on and on,” she said, never realizing that it was precisely what she did herself. “I can’t think who he gets it from, certainly not from me, and his father was so quick and to the point. He’s talking utter nonsense, of
That evening, when she and her grandmother were thinking of going to bed, the telephone suddenly rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Emma quickly. “It might be some sort of message from the stables, they could have fixed up a house-to-house line.”
For lack of anything better to think about her mind had been full of the lieutenant. She tore through to the lobby where the telephone was installed. It wasn’t the lieutenant, it was Pa.
“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed, not sure whether to be sorry or relieved. “We were told the line wouldn’t be working until tomorrow morning.”
“I got priority,” said Pa, “no problem at all.” Which was typical, of course. He liked to sound important. “Well,” he asked, “how have you weathered the crisis? I don’t mind telling you, things have been humming up here.”
“I dare say,” said his daughter. “They’ve been humming down here too. Helicopters roaring overhead, soldiers, Americans, everywhere—we’ve even had them in the stable block, but they say they’re going tomorrow. Rumor has it they’ve taken over all of Poldrea beach and the docks as well.”
“That’s right, that’s right,” said Pa, “a very sensible move, in the circumstances, nobody wants a lot of hooligans trying to upset the nation, not that they’d succeed. It’s wonderful news, isn’t it?”
“What is?” Emma asked.
“Why, the two countries forming a union. Should have happened years ago. Some of us have been advocating it ever since we boobed it in Europe. Now we’ve all got to make it work. There’ll be some dissenters, of course, but we can soon shut them up if they try to make trouble. Tell me, is Mad behaving herself?”
“More or less,” said Emma guardedly. “I mean, she’s not done anything dreadful. We were all upset the first day because one of the soldiers shot poor Spry, Mr. Trembath’s dog, who happened to be loose.”
“Oh well, if that was the only casualty, count yourselves lucky. These chaps can be trigger-happy, you know, and you want to take damn good care not to obstruct them when they’re on duty. I hope you’ve got that gang of yours under control.”
“Yes, they’re being very good.”
“Well, if I’m not under too much pressure up here I might slip down to see you all, though I can’t say when.”
Emma wondered what the pressure could be. Floods of money either coming in, or going out of, the Bank of England, and Pa with his finger on the pulse. Her grandmother came into the lobby. “Vic?” she said, seizing the receiver from Emma.
Mother and son started talking at once, neither listening to the other, both expostulating, both arguing, which was standard practice when they were on the telephone together.
“I shall never forgive you,” Mad was saying. “Of course you knew all about it, and so did Jimmy Jollif, one of you should have warned me, and then we shouldn’t have been taken by surprise. Nonsense, you know how discreet I am, I wouldn’t have shouted it from the rooftops or gone round Poldrea telling everyone I met. What? I can’t hear a word you’re saying. No, I thought the Prime Minister was very sinister, but then he always is. And who are all these people who are going to create trouble? I don’t mind telling you, I shall be among the first.”
They banged on, parry and thrust, like a couple of prizefighters. But time was precious and Pa’s five minutes of priority evidently ran out, for Mad, clamping down the receiver, made for the stairs and bed.
“Vic will go on and on,” she said, never realizing that it was precisely what she did herself. “I can’t think who he gets it from, certainly not from me, and his father was so quick and to the point. He’s talking utter nonsense, of
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